Black Sunday, April 14, 1935

This a true story.

We know it is true for two reasons:
My mother never lied.
And all the stories across that choked rolling plain are the same
about that day.

While out on a drive with her beau (who was not my daddy)
(but I often wondered if the two of them’d been off necking somewhere, but
she says not, so I believe her, because see reason #1 above)
Ahem to get back to the story:

Whilst out on a drive with her beau
on a day no one identified as sunny or not before the event
(and my mama never really said *exactly* what they were doing, but
it appears the car was stopped even before they saw the cloud coming,
so I thought maybe they were parking, but she says not, so see reason #1 above)
but I digress:

They saw the cloud coming and quickly rolled up the windows
(because it was spring in Western Oklahoma and the weather was probably
really nice and warm and you know, springlike, because every day of the dustbowl
wasn’t a miserable nightmare, you know about spring and the goat-footed balloonman
and they were 17 and I’m pretty sure he must’ve at least stolen a kiss but my mom says not, and reason #1)
so to continue:

The wind shook the car and the fine dust sifted in
through the closed windows and doors
and the world outside
was dark with it, like midnight, when a beau
would under normal circumstances kiss his girl

unless she happened to be my mother. Which she was.

So he didn’t.

I wonder what story his kids tell.


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